


Perfectly Delightful

by Argyle



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-05
Updated: 2004-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: Basil paints Dorian.  Of course.





	Perfectly Delightful

Loose papers, idle sketches, gently spiraled to the floor as the warm breeze of late April sighed into the studio. The air was heady with the scent of the lilac blossoms growing in the nearby garden. Indeed, it seemed to be the most decadent of perfumes, nearly tangible on the tip of one’s tongue. It hinted at the warm summer days soon to come, days that would surely bring forth a score of fresh promises. The painter gazed into the pigment eyes of his muse, imagining the stories that gathered behind their lashes.

"Basil -– did you hear me?" Dorian Gray tilted his head, a slight smile playing across his lips.

"I'm sorry, Dorian. I was caught in reflection for a moment," Basil nodded, glancing around the corner of his canvas.

"A likely story. I was saying... perhaps we should call it a day. It is nearly three and I've not moved in at least an hour. You're so quiet when you work -– I often wonder whether you've fallen asleep upon that stool of yours."

Basil nodded again, setting his brush and pallet down on the side table. "Impossible. My inspiration would never allow such a thing to happen. Indeed, I am positively spellbound, and just about as far away from sleep as a man could be." He smiled, his eyes lingering on Dorian. His friend's uncanny beauty -– with those eyes of the starriest blue and defiant tresses of gold -– was the closest he'd found to perfection. He dashed a hand across his brow. "But yes, you are probably right, let us break."

Dorian stretched, catlike, his arms reaching toward the heavens, and stepped down from the pedestal with a quiet sigh. He threw himself down upon a high-backed arm chair and reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarette case. Placing a thin cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a twist of his wrist and the flash of a flame, he smiled. "Do you think it will be finished soon?"

"I cannot say about these things. When it wishes to be done, it will simply say so. I have less control than you know," he sighed, gently sitting down on the seat opposite of Dorian's. He rested his chin against the palm of his hand, his brow creasing. He shot a glance toward the portrait and then back to Dorian. "It will take a week, maybe two."

Dorian groaned slightly, shifting his position. He pulled out from his breast pocket a folded piece of paper and handed it across to Basil. "Look at this."

Unfolding the sheet, Basil recognized his work immediately; it was the very first sketch he had done of his young friend. Fine charcoal lines shaped out the familiar bowed lips, cheekbones. "I thought I had lost this," he began. "Where did you find it?"

"In your garden, yesterday evening as I was leaving. Blown out by the wind, I suppose," Dorian drew on his cigarette. "It was caught in the rose bushes. I thought you might like to hold on to it." He breathed out, a fine streak of blue smoke haloing his soft curls. He gazed toward Basil with half-lidded eyes, a sly smile crossing his mouth.

The painter nodded, holding Dorian's stare. "Of course." He set the sheet onto the table, carefully grasping an orange with the palm of his hand and gently tossed it to the other man. Dorian caught it, letting out a slight laugh. He grinned as he stubbed out his cigarette. Basil swallowed, his eyes settling upon Doria's long, pale fingers as he peeled it. There was a definite grace to the act, a certain amount of longing, as stray pieces of rind fell to the floor. "Dorian?"

Looking up, Dorian placed a smooth section of the fruit into his mouth. Chewing slightly and swallowing, he split another off and held it to his lips. "Yes, Basil?" he asked before biting into it.

"Do you like it?"

"What?"

"Your portrait. Do you like it?" Basil again glanced toward it, then back to the boy.

"Oh yes," he nodded. "It is perfectly delightful."

Basil smiled, appeased. "I'm glad."

Dorian swallowed the last bit of the fruit and stood, rubbing his hands together. "I must be off, I'm afraid. The day is nearly passed. There are things yet to be discovered."

"Tomorrow, then?" the painter asked, coming to his feet. "You will return tomorrow?"

"Of course! My dear Basil," he smiled extending his hand. "Always. I'll come the next day as well, if you'll have me."

"I insist." Basil shook his friend's hand firmly, then dreamily reached toward his face, carefully pushing a stray curl behind his ear. His fingers lingered, shaking slightly, until Basil realized himself and stepped back. "I--"

Dorian smiled almost sadly, Basil thought, and crossed the space between them. He ran the tips of his fingers across the line of Basil's jaw, then softly over his lips. The painter inhaled, caught in Dorian's gaze. After a moment, the boy shifted his weight and with a slight nod, stepped outside. Basil stood for a moment, gradually shaking himself. He walked to the doorway, searching through the high greens of the garden, but Dorian had gone. Coming back to the table, he collected his brushes and prepared the water to rinse them. Lightly, he grazed his tongue over his lips; a shudder passed through him as he tasted the delicate flavor of the orange.

2/5/04


End file.
